


Lancelot and Percival: Where Friendship Begins

by MsPercival



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Canon Era, Friendship, Gen, Longing, Loss, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4341764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPercival/pseuds/MsPercival
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lancelot receives a summons from Merlin for help. On his way to assist, Lancelot discovers a hulking young man crying in the forest. A friendship begins. This brief tale is three chapters long. (Canon AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: As someone who loves backstories, I've always wanted to know more about how Lancelot and Percival met. Here is my version of how they met and how their friendship started. This brief tale is three chapters long.

**Chapter One**

"Packin' up for the night, sir?" the friendly, gray-haired barkeep asked Lancelot, as he collected dirty plates and empty flagons from the neighboring table.

"I'm afraid so. In fact, I'm packing up for good this time. A friend sent word that he needs my help, so I'll be off at sunrise."

Lancelot gulped down the dregs of his second tankard of ale and handed over his coins. The barkeep accepted the money with a quick nod.

"We'll miss ye 'round these parts. Too bad yer leavin'. Not often we get the friendly, quiet type who's not interested in startin' brawls every night. Safe travels to ye, man. If ye ever find yerself back here, be sure ta stop in an' say hello."

"I will," said Lancelot as he stood. "I appreciated the fine food and conversation. Take care of yourself." He patted the barkeep's arm, gathered his cloak and heavy satchel, and strode out into the darkness. He had a lot on his mind.

The previous evening in his tiny, windowless room at the local inn, Lancelot had settled into bed for the night when he heard a manic banging on his door. Late-night knocks rarely brought good news, so he picked up his sword before answering. He opened the door a crack and saw a boy, no older than twelve years, breathless and sweaty, bearing a letter.

"Are you Lancelot?" the boy asked, panting, shoving his sweat-soaked hair out of his face.

Lancelot opened the door wider. "Yes, I am. How can I help you?"

"It's a long story and I have to head back home as soon as possible, but Merlin, Arthur's manservant, sent me." The boy thrust the wrinkled letter into Lancelot's hands. "I don't know what it says, but Merlin told me it's important. I know there's no seal, but I swear to you, I didn't open it." He paused to take a breath. "I've been racing all over this village trying to find you, but I HAVE to go now. Good evening to you."

"But wait!" Lancelot called out.

It was no use. The boy dashed off.

Lancelot hadn't heard from Merlin in some time, so this letter had to be important. He closed his door, leaned his sword against the wall, and unfolded the parchment. Merlin's note was brief:

Lancelot,

Prince Arthur needs you.

 _I_ need you.

Come to Camelot as soon as you can.

Or sooner.

– Merlin

That's all Lancelot needed to know. If Prince Arthur needed him, if Merlin needed him, Lancelot would go to their aid. Though Lancelot had lived in Camelot for only a short time, he'd forged a strong bond with both Arthur and Merlin. There was Guinevere, too, but Lancelot put thoughts of his lost love from his mind. She was Arthur's now, and that was that. No point in dwelling on the woman.

Lancelot wondered if Prince Arthur knew of Merlin's magical abilities yet. Merlin wasn't just a servant, he was a powerful warlock. Revealing one had magic in a kingdom where its use was outlawed was a risky proposition for anyone, but especially for the prince's manservant. Lancelot was one of the few who knew of Merlin's magic skills. Somehow, Lancelot doubted Merlin had shared his closely-guarded secret with anyone else at this point. Perhaps in time, he would.

Lancelot shook off the memories of the previous night at the inn and pulled his cloak around him more tightly as he approached the path to the forest. The evening air was crisp; it smelled like winter was on the way. He needed to start a fire and make camp in the woods for before leaving for Camelot at sunup. He'd forgone staying at the inn tonight, figuring he needed to save up his money for the journey to Camelot. It would take him two, possibly three days to reach the city border, and who knew what he'd find once he made it there? He didn't even know where to find Merlin and Arthur. Lancelot doubted he'd find the two men lounging around at the palace; Merlin's short note rang with desperation. If all had been well, Merlin would have offered up more information. It was funny how one could communicate so much by saying so little.

Of course, this could be a complicated trap, a ruse of some sort to lure Lancelot back to Camelot. But either way, Lancelot felt it in his bones that he was needed. And he wanted to be needed, to be useful. His ambition had always been to become a knight, but that dream had not come to pass. Oh, well. If nothing else, he could still be a loyal and devoted friend.

The dark-haired Lancelot adjusted the strap of his satchel and was just about to step under the thick canopy of trees when the sound of a muffled sniffle met his ears. He paused and listened, but was met with silence. Perhaps it had been a trick of the wind. Yet with his next step, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone crying, albeit quietly.

Lancelot sighed. He could have wandered off with ease, ignoring the sobs, and most men would have done exactly that. Involving oneself with a stranger was risky. And perhaps this person wanted to be left alone. Based on the sounds, Lancelot assumed it was a man crying. He'd check on the man, make sure he wasn't hurt or sick, then move along.

But in the dim light, it was impossible to make out more than shadows and the outline of trees. A crisp breeze blew and the sky was mostly clear, except the moon was half-obscured by wispy autumn clouds. Lancelot had no torch with him, so he stood still for a few moments and allowed his eyes to adjust to the low light. And that's when he saw a figure in the distance, the shape of a tall, muscular young man seated upon the ground, his back leaning against a towering oak tree, his head buried in his hands.

Lancelot hated seeing people in pain; his instinct was to help, always. Yet more than once, men had called him soft. Perhaps he was. Or maybe he was just human.

Lancelot drew closer, but the man didn't look up. The young man wore chainmail, but his thick, solid arms were bare, which was strange in this chill. However, the stranger's biceps were so enormous, perhaps he couldn't find mail that fit properly. Lancelot announced his presence before stepping closer.

"Hey, there. Are you all right?"

The young man's head whipped up. His eyes were swollen from crying and his frown gave away that he was embarrassed about being caught in such a state. He wiped away a stray tear and cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I, ah... I came here for some privacy. I didn't think anyone would hear me."

The young man's voice was deep, but raspy from crying. And as Lancelot's eyes better adjusted to the dark, he took in the man's formidable size. Lancelot did not want to tangle with a man who looked like he could crush a boulder with his fist. Then again, this giant with shaved, light-brown hair looked quite young, perhaps eighteen years. He had that fresh-faced look of youth about him. However, man was armed with a sword. Lancelot needed to tread lightly.

"I can understand wanting privacy," said Lancelot, daring to step even closer. "But sometimes, a friendly ear can help. Mind if I take a seat?"

The young man stared up at Lancelot for a long moment. "I suppose."

Lancelot settled next to the man, resting his own back against the tree. He offered his forearm in greeting. "I'm Lancelot."

"Percival," said the strapping young man, accepting Lancelot's arm and giving it a bone-crushing shake.

Lancelot winced. Damn, this kid was strong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Here is chapter two! We will learn more about what happened to Percival's family at Cendred's hands. And Lancelot makes Perceval an interesting offer. Next week I shall post the final chapter!

Chapter Two

"What brings you out here tonight?" asked Lancelot.

Percival scuffed his boots against the crunchy autumn leaves on the forest floor and blew out a long, shaky breath. "Misery. Sadness. Loneliness. Mostly shame, though."

"Women trouble?"

"Ha. No, I wish it was that simple." Percival leaned back against the tree and looked skyward. "My family's dead. All of them. My mother, father, and little sister."

"Damn. That's horrible. I'm sorry." Lancelot couldn't imagine enduring such a dreadful loss. No wonder this man was crying. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"It was Cenred," whispered Percival. "King Cenred. You know of him?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with the evil monster. I can understand your misery and sadness over losing your family, but why the shame?"

Percival met Lancelot's eye. "I was off messing around when Cenred and his men raided my village. I was out in the woods practicing sword work instead at home farming, as I should have been. But Father told me to take the afternoon off...so I did."

"What happened next?" asked Lancelot. Awful things, he assumed.

"I was gone for a little while, not all that long. But right as I came out of the woods, I heard blood-curdling screams. I ran toward home as fast as I could, but on the way, I saw dead bodies all over. Our villagers. Men, women, children...even helpless babies lay dead or dying on the ground. Dead babies…" He shuddered. "And there was blood...so much blood. But I didn't stop to help anyone. I just wanted to get home to my family."

"And when you got there...?"

Percival's eyes filled with tears. "The front door to my cottage had been kicked in. Before I could rush inside, my uncle and two of his friends tackled me. 'Don't go in there!' my uncle shouted. 'Percival, don't!' But I was like a madman and flung them off me and ran into the house. There they were, my parents and sister..."

Percival broke down into deep, body-wracking sobs. Lancelot sat there and simply patted the man's shoulder. Over the years, Lancelot had learned it was better to let a man talk about his pain when he was good and ready, so he remained silent. Meanwhile, Percival fought to control his tears. Eventually, the young man carried on with his story.

"Their bodies had been covered with sheets. Some thoughtful person had taken the time to do that. I don't know what came over me, but I had to see, to know they were really dead. The first sheet I pulled back was my father's. His throat had been cut and his clothing was soaked in blood. Next was my mother. Cenred's men had run her through, right through her heart. And my sister... my nine-year-old sister... she was headless. They cut off her head! My baby sister! When I think of how she must have suffered… If I'd only been there to save them..."

"It wasn't your fault, Percival," said Lancelot with compassion. "You couldn't have stopped Cenred and his men on your own."

"You don't know that. I might have..."

Sobbing again, Percival leapt to his feet. "Thank you for listening, Lancelot," he said, his voice thick with tears. "But I must go."

Lancelot rose. "Go where?"

"I am going to find King Cenred and rip off his head with my bare hands. But not just for my family. I don't want anyone else to suffer like I did. And if they hang me afterward, so be it."

Lancelot shook his head. This young man was going to get himself killed.

"Wait," Lancelot called out. "What if I told you I needed your help and that you could do some good? I'm going to Camelot to help my friends Merlin and Prince Arthur. I don't know exactly what that'll entail, but the prince could use a strapping man like you. And after we're done with the task, I will help you find Cenred. You have my word."

Percival stared at Lancelot and said nothing, so Lancelot carried on.

"Are you strong?" asked Lancelot.

Percival nodded slowly and wiped a tear from his cheek.

"Fit?"

A corner of Percival's mouth quirked up. "I'm fit."

"And are you ready for adventure?"

After a pregnant pause, Percival said, "I am."

"Then what are you waiting for? We leave for Camelot at first light. Come along; we need to set up camp now." Lancelot wandered into the forest and Percival followed.

"Do you really think I'm worthy?" asked Percival, now striding along next to Lancelot. "Worthy to serve a prince? Even after what I told you?"

"All men deserve a chance to prove their worth, Percival."

"I'm ready," Percival declared. "I'm ready to prove my worth. You won't be sorry, Lancelot. Thank you for this."

"There's no need to thank me." Lancelot smiled at the man and dropped his satchel in a small clearing. "This is a good place to make camp for the night, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's fine. I'll gather some wood."

Lancelot halted his new friend with a light touch. "I have a good feeling about you, Percival. You're the kind of man Camelot needs."

XXXX

Lancelot woke to a dim, foggy dawn, drawn out of sleep by the sound of his new traveling companion packing up camp. The night before, Lancelot realized Percival had no provisions with him, nor a cloak. Lancelot had offered his traveling blanket to the man, but Percival had refused. The towering young man simply leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. He couldn't have slept soundly.

Yet there he was, covering the now-cool pit fire and eliminating any traces of their camp. Lancelot sat up and yawned.

"You're thorough," said Lancelot.

Percival shrugged. "I'm a decent tracker, which means I'm a good cleaner. It's best not to leave traces."

"And what other skills do you have?"

"I'm solid with a sword. Not great, but fair. And I'm strong, thanks to my size. That's about it, I suppose."

Out of nowhere, Lancelot heard a loud, deep, growling sound, a wolf on the prowl nearby, no doubt. It was strange that a wolf should be up and about at such an early hour skulking about, but still, Lancelot rose and drew his sword.

"Arm yourself," he whispered to Percival.

"There's no need for that," said Percival, his face burning bright red. "That was, ah, my stomach growling."

Lancelot sheathed his weapon and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Of course this poor man was starving. Last night, Lancelot had offered Percival some bread from his satchel, but the young man had declined, claiming he wasn't hungry. Now Lancelot knew better.

"You've nothing but the clothes on your back and your sword. You're hungry and I have plenty of provisions," said Lancelot. He reached into his satchel, produced a round of brown bread, and tore it in half. He held out the offering.

"No, I'm all right..."

Lancelot tossed the bread to Percival, followed by a chunk of cheese. "Eat," demanded Lancelot. "I have enough food to last us two days, which is all we'll need, as long as we're careful and travel quickly. If we're lucky, we can snag a squirrel or a rabbit on the way."

With a slight frown, Percival eyed the food in his hand, then tore into it with urgency, finishing the fare in a few bites and swallows. Lancelot then handed over his waterskin.

"How long have you been on foot?" asked Lancelot.

Percival took a long draught of water. "Two days. It all happened two days ago. That's when I wandered away from my village. I didn't plan ahead at all, I just walked."

"And you were planning to take on Cenred and his men all by yourself without supplies or food?"

"Like I said, I wasn't thinking. I got by on wild berries and I stole some carrots from a garden, I'm ashamed to say."

"You need meat or you'll never last," said Lancelot with a shake of his head. He dug through his bag once again, and this time, he withdrew half of a thick sausage.

Percival shook his head. "No, we need to get moving. The bread and cheese was enough."

Lancelot waved the sausage in the air with a smile on his face, and Percival chuckled. With reluctance, the young man accepted the sausage.

"All right, time to head out, Percival. We're off to the Valley of the Fallen Kings. It's to the south and west of the Forest of Brechfa. Are you familiar with it?"

Percival swallowed his mouthful of food and helped Lancelot finish packing up.

"I've heard of it. People say there's dark magic there. You're sure that's where your friend and the prince are?"

"I have a strong sense that's where they'll be."

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N – We have reached the final chapter in this brief glimpse into the start of Lancelot and Percival's friendship! And thank you to all who take the time to read. I appreciate it.

Chapter Three

The soft morning sun illuminated the forest, and the two men moved westward. As they walked at a brisk clip, Percival asked, "About those senses… do you get them often? Some say people who get senses have magic. I'm not scared if you _do_ have magic, by the way. Just curious."

"Now and again I get strong — I don't know how to explain them — feelings," said Lancelot, his tone measured and even. Lancelot most assuredly did not have any magical skills… he was nothing like Merlin, who possessed the most amazing magic. But occasional hunches and powerful intuition? Sure.

Morning light gave way to afternoon clouds and cool drizzle, but still, the men pressed on with few breaks. Lancelot enjoyed Percival's company. The young man was quiet but friendly. Percival still carried the weight of grief in his shoulders; Lancelot could see it plainly, that slight slump of misery. However, Lancelot looked much the same after he'd found out Prince Arthur was in love with Guinevere. With that discovery, Lancelot had felt compelled to walk away, but still, the walking away had hurt.

He brushed off thoughts of Guinevere and focused on the path ahead. Anyway, it was wrong of Lancelot to compare his grief to Percival's. Percival had endured something truly tragic, while Lancelot had nursed nothing more than a broken heart. Although it might not have been as awful as what Percival was going through, damn, it had stung. Still did, sometimes, much to Lancelot's dismay.

The men trekked on for most of the day, yet as the sun dipped lower toward the horizon, Lancelot and Percival took a meal break near a small creek. They rested with their backs against a fallen tree, snacking on more bread, cheese, and sausage.

"After we're done in the Valley of the Kings and we reach Camelot, I will eat the biggest meal you've ever seen," declared Percival. "It'll be ten courses, at least, and I'll wolf down a huge roast... anything!"

Lancelot chuckled. "I'll make you a deal — if you stick with me, I will treat you to a whole roast pig."

"I have a good appetite, but I might be willing to share _a little_ meat with you..."

Lancelot elbowed Percival, and the two men laughed.

"Anyway, what do you mean 'if' I stick with you?" asked Percival. "My word's good and I want to help."

"I figured." Lancelot glanced over his shoulder and noted the sun's position in the sky. "Well, time to get going..."

Percival held up his hand and cocked his head to the side, a look of concentration on his face. Within moments, Lancelot understood what was going on — hoof beats approached. The men vaulted over the fallen log and ducked their heads. Meanwhile, the rumbling sound of hoof beats grew louder and louder. It sounded as if at least thirty men were riding by. Percival peeked over the top of the hiding spot. The man sank down again, his face a frightening shade of white.

"Cenred's men!" said Percival too loudly.

It appeared as if Percival was about to leap to his feet, but Lancelot slapped one hand over Percival's mouth and pinned him down by the shoulder with the other.

"Percival, don't," whispered Lancelot. "Now's not the time. Your time will come."

Cenred's riders passed without issue, but Percival's jaw was set in a stern line and he trembled as the men galloped past.

"When I see Cenred's standard, that horrible, twisted serpent, I feel like I'm going to be sick. And I feel murderous. I wasn't that kind of man before."

"But you took up my offer and are helping strangers now. You're a man of honor and kindness, otherwise, you'd have turned me down and gone on your way. The real you is a thoughtful man, a kind one."

Percival stopped trembling. "Another one of your senses?"

"Yes, in fact."

"You're quite wise. Perhaps you're a warlock disguised as a warrior."

Lancelot chuckled. "If I was, do you think we'd be traveling on foot eating brown bread, cheese, and cold, fatty sausage? I think not. We'd fly through the air somehow, rest each night in beautiful, comfortable palaces, and feast on roast goose."

"Roast goose!" said Percival, smacking his lips together. "What I wouldn't do for a roast goose…"

Percival seemed to have forgotten about Cendred's men for a moment, and Lancelot suggested they move on a little longer on foot, then stop once the light faded.

After several more hours of walking, the men were exhausted, and set up camp for the night beneath a rocky overhang. They'd been so focused on traveling, neither had thought to stop to pick off a small animal with a rock, so they settled on more sausage and cheese for supper. Once again, Percival leaned up against a tree and Lancelot lay down on the ground, his cloak wrapped around him. They'd opted not to make a fire. It was best to draw as little attention to themselves as possible.

"We're making good time," said Lancelot. "We'll reach the Valley by midday tomorrow."

The men sat in the dark quiet for a time until Percival broke the silence.

"Lancelot?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a wife?"

"No. I was in love once, but… it didn't work out." Lancelot wrestled with the idea of telling Percival about Guinevere. It wasn't something he ever discussed with anyone, but he took a chance and opened up to Percival. After all, Percival had shared intimate details of his life.

"I was in love with a woman from Camelot named Guinevere," explained Lancelot. "I met her that very first day I arrived at the city. To be honest, I fell in love right then; she's such a beauty. And kind… so kind. It's a long story, but I left the kingdom and eventually found her again under peculiar circumstances. She'd been held captive and I tried to help her escape. That's when my friends, Merlin and Prince Arthur, turned up. Anyway, I discovered Arthur was in love with her, so I left. If Arthur loved her, Guinevere and I could never be together."

"Have you seen her since?"

"No, but she might be with Arthur now, so perhaps we'll see her. I've gotten over her," Lancelot lied, then changed the subject. "What about you? Did you have a woman at home?"

"No. My size puts women off. One day soon, I hope."

"Ah, so you plan on living, finding a good woman, and _not_ being hanged for trying to kill Cenred on your own?"

Percival gave a quiet laugh. "I suppose. Being hanged doesn't sound like fun."

Lancelot heard Percival shift around in the dark. "There's something else, isn't there?" asked Lancelot

"Yes, there is. You deserve to know the truth: I came along with you was because I had nothing left to lose, and you promised to help me find Cenred. I came along out of selfishness and a desire for revenge, but during the last day, being around you has taught me that doing good comes first. You've shown me kindness when you didn't have to, and that means a great deal. You stepped in and offered me hope when few others would have given a damn."

Lancelot remained silent and waited for Percival to share more.

"Back there, when Cenred's men passed, an idea came to me: Revenge can tear a larger hole in your heart," said Percival. "Loss and grief creates the hole, but vengeance tears it open wide.

"Don't ask me how I came to understand this… I don't really know. I think you have an odd gift for helping men see the goodness left in their hearts when they otherwise can't see it, Lancelot. How do you do that?"

"No idea," said Lancelot quickly. Talk of odd gifts and vague implications that he had magic made him nervous. "Besides, it doesn't matter how you arrived here. The fact that you're here now is all that counts. There was a time in my past when I cared for nothing and lived by the sword, but I changed, just as you're changing now."

"If you say so."

"I do say so." Lancelot was eager to change the subject. "Anyway, once we've helped Merlin and Prince Arthur and are settled, we'll celebrate by finding you a wife!"

"Sounds good to me," said Percival with a deep chuckle.

Lancelot closed his eyes. "Perhaps I'll find one, too."

XXXX

As predicted, Lancelot and Percival reached the Valley of the Fallen Kings by midday. Imposing, moss-covered statues of ancient rulers guarded the entry. Lancelot and Percival stood up on the high ridge above the Valley. Thick mist swirled below, but there was no wind, no sound.

"This place gives me the chills," said Percival, peering down from the ridge into the narrow, rocky valley.

Before Lancelot could utter a word of agreement, the two men heard frantic voices ringing out from the cramped passage below. Lancelot's eyes scoured the area, and that's when he saw Prince Arthur rushing forward, followed by a man he didn't recognize, then Merlin, and — dear gods — Guinevere. A large party of armed warriors gave chase, and they were closing in on Arthur's group.

Arthur's followers couldn't possibly outrun such a large number of men and were dead for sure. Lancelot and Percival would never be able to make it down into the Valley in time to help. Lancelot braced himself, preparing to witness his friends' and Guinevere's deaths.

However, out of the corner of his eye, Lancelot saw Percival rush forth. With a loud grunt of exertion, the young man shoved a massive boulder — unmovable for most men — down over the ridge's edge and into the Valley, which set off a roaring avalanche. Huge rocks crashed down and blocked off the men pursuing Arthur's party. Guinevere was safe, and Lancelot wanted to fall to his knees with relief.

"Damn, that felt good," said Percival.

"Doing the right thing usually does." Lancelot composed himself, then stepped forward and clapped young Percival on the shoulder. "You were outstanding."

"It's amazing what a sense of purpose can do to a man. You gave me that," said Percival.

Lancelot glanced down into the Valley again and met Guinevere's eye. Even filthy and exhausted, she was more beautiful than ever. Lancelot cast away that thought and did nothing more than give her a friendly smile. Lancelot turned toward Percival again.

"There are good, loyal men in Camelot," said Lancelot. "You'll find friends there. Besides me, of course."

"I'm glad to call you my friend. You saved me, Lancelot, pointed me in the right direction when I needed it. I'm grateful."

Lancelot grinned. This was the beginning of a new adventure and he couldn't wait to see what challenges lay ahead. But in the meantime, he needed to introduce Percival to the group. Lancelot had a feeling the young man would fit right in. He dropped his arm around Percival's broad shoulders.

"Come, let me introduce you to everyone…"

**THE END**


End file.
